About Last Night

At that, the smile broke loose and lit up his face. “That’s a very generous interpretation, darling. Tell me, did they teach you all this in parochial school? Because I was under the distinct impression you Yanks didn’t know anyone’s history but your own.”

He had no idea she worked with history at the V&A every day, or that her mother was from England. The gap his comment opened up between them was narrow, but a cold wind whistled through it all the same, dampening her enjoyment of the moment.

Her fault. She’d made the gap. And she was so tired of herself for doing it, so tired of all the ways her sabotage spoiled their pleasure in each other. He did dozens of things that made her happy, and sometimes she felt like she paid him back for it by shooting him repeatedly with a BB gun. One shot wasn’t going to hurt him—you couldn’t even kill a squirrel with a BB gun—but Nev didn’t deserve a hide full of holes.

Her rules were stupid. She was stupid. She was really sick of being stupid about Nev.

“My mom was English,” she said. “And I work in English history, assisting a curator at the V and A. Though mostly what I do is study knitting.”

He stared at her for a long moment, searching her eyes for something. He knew what she’d just done. Maybe he was looking for the reason. “Is that so?” he asked finally, his lips curving slowly into a smile. “I’m glad to know it.” He drew her to him for a deep, slow kiss that made her heart thud and her blood rush. A kiss for sharing secrets and holding hands and making love. A kiss that made her soft and vulnerable and okay with it.

When they came up for air, he leaned his forehead against hers. “Anything else you want to tell me, love, I’m listening. Anything at all.”

She waited for the panic to arrive, but it must’ve missed the train. Instead, she was calm. Slightly aroused. Hungry for dinner. Pleased with herself.

Huh.

“Thanks,” she said. “But let’s just eat and watch the movie, okay?”

Nev didn’t have a TV, so they dragged the computer out of his office and set it up on a chair opposite the couch in the studio.

Cath soon lost herself in the story of George Bailey, the boy who’d wanted to see the world but instead spent his life trapped in Bedford Falls, sacrificing everything he wanted for the love of a good woman and to take care of his fellow man.

She hadn’t seen the movie in years—had been afraid to, actually, because she and her parents had always watched it together at Christmas. But Nev had a serious gap in his general knowledge when it came to American cinema, and she’d vowed to do something about it.

The film carried its own freight car of memories: she knew every scene, almost every line. Spooned against him on the couch with his arm around her, though, she was okay. More than okay.

George and Mary were in the taxi on the way to their honeymoon when Nev’s free hand started roaming, and before long he was kissing her neck and pressing something hard into her backside. She couldn’t keep herself from pushing back against him, any more than she could keep her heart rate from spiking and her breasts from begging for attention whenever he touched her. She did manage to offer a token protest. “You’re supposed to be watching the movie. There’s a really good part coming up.”

“I’m multitasking.”

The hand meandered inside her shirt and paused, flat against her stomach, while George and Mary rescued the Bailey Building and Loan. Then his clever fingers unsnapped her shorts, lowered her zipper, and rested, cupping her curls.

She lifted her hips, urging him to continue, and Nev chuckled. He dipped one finger inside her and dragged it slowly upward. Cath drew in a shaky breath and let it out again. She would never get tired of the way he touched her. It simply wasn’t possible.

“Your knickers are soaked, Mary Catherine,” he whispered in her ear. “Shall I take them off?”

“Shh. You’ll spoil the movie.” But her eyelids had drifted closed.

Nev reached out to pause the DVD. “Time for the intermission.”

Before they restarted the movie, Nev disappeared from the room and returned with a wrapped present. “What’s this for?” she asked as she took it from him.

He shrugged.

Cath tore off the paper. No one had ever spoiled her like Nev did. He was always bringing her little offerings, coffee at the train station, a new notebook to write in. Keys to his flat.

“Oreos! Oh, Nev, where did you find them?”

He grinned, delighted with her reaction. “I happened to see them at Sainsbury’s.”

Cath leaned in to kiss him in thanks, and he cupped her face in his hand, his eyes showing a tenderness he usually kept better concealed. Though she knew it was there. She was stupid about him, but she wasn’t that stupid.

“Do you know that’s the first time you’ve ever used my name?” he asked.

She pressed her cheek against his fingers and closed her eyes. “You’re always Nev in my head,” she confessed. It was a night for confessions, apparently.

He kissed her forehead. “This film is making you sentimental.”